Belief
by Periphery
Summary: Sometimes it's all but impossible to reconcile tragedy with a loving God. Elliot attempts to do so and displays his tendency to keep rather important secrets.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: So for several weeks I am deprived of both new SVU and of Kairos. This is the result. WARNING: Kairos (a three and a half day religious retreat for high school students) plays a smallish role in this story. I came up with the original idea while I was leading one in September. If you've been on Kairos, I hope you like this. If you may go in the future, I strongly discourage you from reading, because I do reference a couple things (okay, one) that you're not really supposed to know about beforehand. And if you have no idea what I'm talking about, I hope you don't get too confused. It's not too huge a thing, I promise.

* * *

_I'm a cop. I want all of you boys to know that right off the bat. For those of you my son hasn't already told. I'm Dick's dad, by the way._

_Brian, I appreciate your condolences but I don't think Dick does._

_I want you all to know what I do because that's a big part of my story. That's why, as I heard someone at that table say this morning, I'm 'wound a little tight.' For me, looking for danger around every corner isn't fatalism. It's just good sense. I spend so much time doing it that it's part of my children's stories too. Just ask any of them how often I've made it to dinner lately._

* * *

"I'm sorry," Olivia says when he throws down his pen for the fifth time. "I just – what the hell are you doing?"

Elliot buries his face in his hands. "Writing a talk."

"A what?"

"A talk. A speech. A thing where I have to get up in front of a bunch of teenage boys and talk about my life for half an hour."

Her face clears. "Right. You're going on retreat."

"Yeah. That."

Olivia clucks her tongue. "Shouldn't have raised them Catholic."

"Shut up, Liv."

"So what are you writing about?"

"Um." He clears his throat and squints at the papers on his desk. "My topic is 'Obstacles to God's Friendship.'"

"In English?"

"Please shut up."

"Hey," she mutters, "I'm the one who's actually working here."

"It's my new constructive way of putting off paperwork. Quiet please."

For a few minutes she humors him and returns to her own paperwork, sneaking occasional glances across at her partner. This is clearly not the kind of concentration he's used to; he can't seem to decide whether to write or type. Every few seconds he sighs gustily.

"Elliot," she ventures, and he groans in frustration.

"_Stop_," he growls, more irritated than the situation calls for.

Olivia frowns at him. "What's with you?"

Drawing in a deep breath, he reaches for a paper clip to fiddle with. "It's just really hard to write about you while you're sitting there being annoying."

She has to remind herself to breathe. "You're writing about me?"

"Yeah." He shifts uncomfortably. "Stop staring at me like that. I have to write about something."

The most flippant thing she can think of to say is, "So I'm an obstacle to God's friendship?"

"At this moment, you're an obstacle in general." He throws the paper clip at her. "I, uh, I'm writing about the fire."

"Oh." She touches the back of her head, remembering, and since God is not her area of expertise admits, "I don't get it."

He props his elbows on his desk. "Well, I'm still trying to put it into words. But it's hard to be friends with God when you hate him."

Olivia ducks her head and announces, "I don't know. I certainly hate _you_ sometimes."

She can feel Elliot's slight smile before he too looks away.

* * *

"God, these lines are so tacky," he moans.

Olivia doesn't bother to look up, having heard variations on this complaint for the last hour. "They're your lines," she says patiently.

"Actually, they're kind of standard. According to Lizzie."

Wow. He actually responded. "She seems involved."

"She loved Kairos so much she talked Dick into going. Which, believe me, is an accomplishment."

"Like father, like son."

He ignores her. "And she wants to lead herself this year, so she conned me into leading first."

She smirks to herself; she already knew all this. "So how tacky are the lines?"

Elliot rolls his eyes and picks up a sheet of looseleaf from his desk. "'Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain,'" he recites.

In spite of his obvious sarcasm Olivia smiles. "I like that."

"Women," he grumbles. "Is there some frequency you all tune in to, or what?"

"Hey, El, it's _your_ retreat. Are you using that one?"

"No," he says decisively. "There are other, slightly less corny lines."

"For example?"

"Well… I will find one and let you know."

* * *

She can tell when he finally finishes writing the talk. Of course it doesn't take a great deal of intuition, as he celebrates by punching the air and letting out a whoop. "Congratulations," Olivia says. "You proud of yourself?"

"You have no idea."

"Can I read it?"

Elliot's grin freezes. "No."

"Oh, come on, El," she teases, walking around his desk to peer over his shoulder at the computer screen. "I'm sure you're not _that_ bad a writer – "

"Liv, stop it."

"I'm in it; it's only fair – "

He stands up abruptly, sending his chair shooting away, blocking her view. "No!"

"Okay, okay." She holds up both hands and steps back, watching him carefully. "Geez, Elliot, what's the big deal?"

He turns away and closes the file.

"Elliot," she says, more softly now. "What's wrong?"

She clocks his movements because they are as familiar as her own skin: a shake of the head, a measured pivot to face her, a hand scrubbed over his face.

"Sit down," he says roughly. "I gotta tell you something."

* * *

_I won't subject you to the kinds of things I see every day. Suffice it to say that I work with rape victims, and I'm sure that none of you young men will ever be involved in anything of the kind. Sometimes it's all but impossible to reconcile tragedy with a loving God._

_There's no magic answer for that. I only wish there was._

_Please write this down: Not getting what you prayed for doesn't mean that God wasn't listening._

_Not getting what you prayed for doesn't mean that God wasn't listening._

* * *

TBC...

Next chapters will flash back to the event in question. Please R&R, and let me know if you're confused!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See previous.

Thanks for all the feedback! This might help with the confusion, but then again it might make things as clear as mud. As for Kairos it is definitely a Catholic thing... I'm honestly not sure if other denominations do it too.

_

* * *

_

_There are a lot of stories I could tell you, but for the sake of brevity I'm going to go with the most recent. I want to tell you about my partner. Like I said, I'm a cop, so partner is at work but it goes deeper than that. In the NYPD we say that partners are like blood. You can tell because we spend most of our time bickering like siblings._

_My partner's name is Olivia. We've been working together for twelve years, and she is my hero. (One of several, actually, but that dilutes the effect so let's just go with it.) She never had a father. Her mother was an abusive alcoholic, and they had just begun to mend their relationship when she died nine years ago. All this means that since then, I have been Liv's family. And still, somehow, of the two of us, she is the stronger. I don't have the words to describe how much she has given me over the years, so I won't try._

* * *

"So how's Mr. Perfect?" Munch asked Olivia conversationally over the sound of their respective partners arguing.

She rolled her eyes. "I thought my guys had to make it to the one-month mark before you all called 'em Mr. Perfect."

"Well, it's been a long time since we knew about one before you dumped him."

"God, you make me sound like a whore," she groaned. "Tonight's only our second date."

"Now see, that's the first voluntary info we've had on your personal life since I don't know when…."

Olivia glanced at her partner, who was going purple in the face. Fin was off on an apparently offensive tangent. "I think," she said, "joining the fight would be more comfortable."

"Children!" Cragen bellowed from his office door, and all four fell silent. "Fin, Elliot, get in here."

"Damn," Olivia muttered as they and her distraction disappeared.

"Hey," Munch protested. "Contrary to popular opinion, I am capable of shutting up. If you ask very nicely."

"How about if I just ignore you?" She made a point of turning away and spotted a young girl with the Stabler nose. "Hey, Lizzie. Your dad will be out in a minute. I hope."

"I came to see you," Lizzie said. She flew at Olivia and hugged her hard around the waist. "Thanks for the letter," she whispered.

"You're welcome." A little startled, Olivia quickly recovered and draped an arm around the girl's shoulders. She wouldn't have been so dubious about the whole Kairos-letter-writing concept if she'd known it would have such an effect. "I take it the retreat went well?"

Lizzie drew back and proudly held up the cross hanging from her neck. "It was amazing. It was – oh, words can't describe it. I wish you could go."

"Oh, Liz, I'm hardly the religion type. Besides, I think I'm too old."

"Adults can lead." Lizzie grinned impishly. "I'm gonna make Dick go, and then I think I can guilt-trip Dad into leading his."

"Now, Elizabeth," Olivia reproved, "is that the Christian thing to do?"

"Yeah, like he couldn't use a three-day vacation. Come on."

More perceptive than she looked. "He could," Olivia conceded, then glanced up as her partner stormed out of Cragen's office. "Speak of the devil."

Elliot pulled himself together when he saw his daughter. "Lizzie, what's up?"

"Nothing. I was hanging out with Michelle and I wanted to stop and say hi to Olivia."

"She likes me better," Olivia put in, unable to resist.

"Yeah, that's great," Elliot muttered distractedly. "Hang on a second, honey, and we'll go home."

Lizzie nodded and settled at her father's desk, pulling a yellow folder from her shoulder bag. Olivia checked her watch: seven o'clock. She must have lost track of time while stuck in interrogation, trying to crack Jason Ricol.

_Trying_ being the operative word, of course.

Elliot pulled her away towards the windows. "Cap's pissed," he informs her, handing her three file folders. "Just got a call that Jason's alibi checked."

"No." All that time they'd wasted…

"I fixed on him," Elliot said, face set. "We missed a connection. Three arson-murders with similar MOs – "

"You mean the arson part," Olivia clarified, paging through the files. "All set in apartments, single women living alone – "

"If there were rapes, the evidence was destroyed," Elliot continued. "But they fit the type – Kelly was just the first to survive the fire."

Olivia thought of their victim, who had escaped with second degree burns when her rapist torched her apartment. She'd been even luckier than they'd thought. "So now we've got to start all over," she sighed.

"Well, apparently Huang thinks he might come to us somehow – wants to keep an eye on the investigation, that kind of thing. Cap says you and I can get to it in the morning."

"Nice of him," she said, remembering her date.

Elliot grinned widely. "Go have fun with Alex."

She groaned. Of course he'd remember too. "Munch is already calling him Mr. Perfect."

"Well, that's premature," Elliot scoffed. "He hasn't made it to a month yet. You have a very stringent screening process."

"Shut up. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

"I got something," Fin said after a while in the darkened squad room with only his partner for company.

Munch, startled from his papers, didn't seem to hear the words. "Liv and Elliot better take this up early tomorrow," she grumbled.

"I got something," Fin repeated.

"What?"

"Suspicious character from the same delivery service, they like him for those arsons… Kelly's neighbors mentioned him but she didn't."

"We got a picture?"

"Sketch. They never IDed him yet." Fin held up the sketch.

"Maybe jog her memory," Munch suggested, frowning at the amiable-looking man in the sketch. "He looks familiar."

"Hmm?" Fin looked closer. "Maybe…"

"I swear, I feel like I just saw him."

"You're nuts, ol' man."

* * *

Olivia studied herself in the mirror and made a final adjustment to her makeup. Hopefully Alex wasn't getting too bored out in her living room. She couldn't abide a man who got bored easily.

"What's that smell?" she called as she stepped out of the bathroom. "Are you playing with my _stove_?"

Alex, who had wandered into the kitchen, grinned disarmingly. "I'm hungry. Thought about making us some pasta."

"We just ate."

"No," he corrected, "we just saw a movie. We ate all the way before that."

"You still shouldn't be hungry," Olivia said, coming around the counter. She frowned. "You don't need matches for the stove."

He grinned again, without the good humor; and alarm bells went off in her head. It was true that she rarely used her stove, but that smell was still a little much….

_Huang thinks he might come to us._

"Give me the matches, Alex," she said calmly.

Instead he lit one and the awful smile grew. Cursing herself in every language she knew, Olivia tackled him.

* * *

"Stabler," Elliot mumbled into the phone. Beside him Kathy yawned and rolled over, evidently deciding to go back to sleep.

"Get your ass down here," Cragen said.

"Whoa." Wide awake, Elliot swung his legs out of bed. "What happened? Where's here?"

"Your partner's place," the captain said tightly. "Now."

He gave up on finding decent clothes and threw on the first things he touched. "What _happened?_"

"Still working on that part."

* * *

TBC...

Please R&R!


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: See previous._

* * *

_A few months ago I got a phone call in the middle of the night. Now, I'm used to this. Ask Dick. So immediately I thought of our current case, wondering what had gone wrong._

_Something had gone wrong all right, but it had nothing to do with the case. I was called out to my partner's apartment. By the time I got there, the fire had spread to the rest of the building. _

* * *

He had to park half a block away because of the assortment of fire trucks and ambulances converged on Olivia's apartment building. Elliot ripped his keys from the ignition and sprinted towards the flames. On the way he ran headlong into someone.

"Hey, El!" Fin slung an arm around his chest to slow him down. "Stop. You found us."

Elliot cast a quick glance around the group, Fin-John-Cragen _not enough._ "Where's Liv?" he demanded. _Where's my partner?_

"Don't know," John said helplessly. "A lot of people made it out, but we haven't found her. Of course, she doesn't know we're here."

He didn't ask if they'd tried her cell. He'd tried it himself, several times, on the way over. Instead Elliot seized on another question. "Why _are_ we here? I mean – "

"Neighbor called the precinct," Cragen said.

"There he is," Fin said, pointing. "Hey, Ted!"

A tall black man clutching a little boy's hand turned towards them. "Yeah?"

"This is Elliot," Fin said bluntly.

"Olivia's partner," Ted finished.

Why the hell were they spending time on introductions? Elliot forced himself to focus. "You look familiar," he said.

Ted shrugged; the little boy hid behind his legs. "I dunno. Maybe we met. Anyway I know she doesn't have any family, so…"

"Thank you," Elliot said, and coughed. Christ, he didn't even know what he was thanking the man for. The not knowing was cracking his treacherous voice.

Ted smiled sadly and nodded.

"Isn't anybody accounting for people?" Elliot said to no-one in particular.

"They're kind of concentrating on putting the fire out first," John said pointedly.

"Landlord was makin' a list," Ted put in. "Don't know where he's got to."

"Patience," Cragen coached; and Elliot nearly exploded except that he caught his captain's eye first and felt ashamed. He wasn't the only one going crazy for worry. Patience. Not one of his strong points.

"Do we know how it started?" he asked, as patiently as he could.

"They're talkin' arson," Fin said.

"Arson," Elliot repeated, the concept sticking in his mind.

"Fuck," John said suddenly. "_Fuck._ Fin, do you have that sketch?"

* * *

By the time the fire had died down, flickering light gradually fading from the surrounding buildings, Elliot honestly didn't think he'd ever breathe properly again. Pure fear constricted his chest, fear and the impossible task of not thinking about what he was afraid of.

News trickled in; Ted seemed to consider keeping their small group up to speed a personal responsibility. The first two floors were accounted for. The top two. The pit of despair widened steadily. Half the building had checked in with the landlord. Ted's small son Brandon popped out of nowhere to inform them that the O'Callahan clan, complete with all six children, had turned up safe and sound.

Elliot knew what his colleagues were thinking: that it was very difficult to care about a list of survivors that did not as yet include Olivia.

They all sensed the change in atmosphere when the flames were controlled, then doused. The crowd murmured. The darkness, broken now only by the flashing lights of various emergency vehicles, pressed in, absolute. Cragen shifted uneasily and called out to an approaching figure. "Hey, Charlie!"

"Don." The fire chief beat ashes from the sleeves of his jacket and shook the captain's hand. "I guess you're here about the cop in 7D."

"My partner," Elliot said, shoving his way forward.

Charlie squinted at him and shuffled his feet. Without looking away he addressed the captain. "I'm real sorry, Don."

Something inside was screaming, but Elliot's mouth seemed stuck shut.

"The fire was set up in 7D," the chief said uncomfortably. "When we got in there we found…remains. Of a body. Place is gutted. Found this in the sink." He fumbled in a bulky pocket, unfurled his fingers to reveal a silver chain. "Survived under six inches of dishwater."

As though hypnotized, Elliot watched his own hands stretch out, supplicating. The chief tipped his hand so that Olivia's ever-present necklace pooled in Elliot's palm. It was warm. Of course it was. He hadn't seen her without it in at least five years. Of course it would be warm. He realized his hands were shaking and closed his fists, clutching the necklace tight.

"Don," the chief said from far away. "She musta put up a hell of a fight. But this guy, unofficial of course, this guy's been around and he's good enough that we ain't caught him yet. Don. I'm so sorry."

Fin chose that moment to demonstrate his right hook. The chief stumbled back, nose bleeding; but when he recovered his expression was horrible for its sympathy. John's face was crumpling like a worn t-shirt. Elliot bolted.

* * *

_When you are told that a loved one has died, time slows. The seconds are crawling and still you can't think fast enough to keep up, because it's so hard to put her name and "dead" in the same thought, the same breath. I stood there frozen, and one of our coworkers, Fin, he punches the chief in the face and breaks his nose. So blood's streaming down the chief's face and tears are streaming down my captain's face and I had to get away. I went back to my car and sat there leaning on the steering wheel, still doing that mental gymnastics, trying to put "Olivia" and "dead" together. _

_Grief didn't hit first: anger did. I got mad at my partner, for letting this happen, and I got mad at God, for the same reason. How could He do this to a woman who had so much living left to do? To someone who helped so many people every day, to someone I needed so much? Because here's what I learned about myself that night: I am greedy and a little selfish. I have so many people around me, so many more than my partner, for example, has ever had; and I still need every single one of them._

_I got angry. I started hitting things. And so I wound up with a green folder my daughter had left on the passenger seat. The papers scattered everywhere. Know Yourself, I saw, and a quote jumped out at me, possibly because she'd decorated it with tiny stars. It said – please write this down – when you are down to nothing, God is up to something._

_When you are down to nothing, God is up to something._

_I'm gonna let you guys in on a little secret: this stuff, it's hard in real life. I saw that and I was like, yeah right, God clearly doesn't give a crap. God's got better stuff to do tonight. Those papers, they said things like "It's okay, shit happens" and "Once you choose hope, anything is possible" and "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain" and at that moment, I didn't believe any of it._

* * *

She'd had a date that night. He remembered this detail with excruciating slowness, remembered the sketch Fin hadn't had, the sketch John swore looked like the man who'd picked Olivia up at work just a few days before.

For a brief moment Elliot let himself be mad at her -- didn't she know how to take care of herself? -- but this anger faded quickly, because he'd met Alex too, hadn't he, and his radar hadn't gone off. The guy had snowed them all. It wasn't Olivia's fault.

_Liv._

Remains, the chief had said. No features, no identity, just… remains. Oh, how she would have hated that.

No identity. No _identity._

Elliot sat up, absently rubbing the steering wheel where it was wet. Had someone swept the area? Of course not. Munch had said it: they were busy putting out the flames.

He considered the trite statements before him but what stuck in his mind was something Dick had come out with the day before: something involving a cat locked in a box. As long as the box was closed, as long as no one knew if the cat was dead or alive, it was perpetually both. Dead _and _alive.

At the time he'd only wondered where the hell his son got this stuff.

Elliot pulled himself together and slammed the car door behind him. Probably he was only setting himself up for further heartbreak, but at least it wasn't sitting around doing nothing. Tipping his face up to the night sky, he slid neatly into his partner's mindset. She'd escaped, maybe, and for some reason she'd wanted to get away from the building. Next step: think like Olivia.

* * *

_Please write this down: Once you choose hope, anything is possible._

_Once you choose hope, anything is possible._

* * *

TBC...

Break's over so updates may be less frequent from here on out... I'm sure that's exactly what you want to hear at this point. You know how writers are encouraged....

Oh and the bit about the cat is one of the many mangled explanations I have heard of Schrodinger's cat.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See previous.

So...I guess I owe you guys a chapter. :P Thanks for the great response -- that was really nice to come home to. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

_God, as a friend, is a little bit like your best friend. The main difference is that He never gets pissed – excuse me, gets mad at you. He's always there; He'll always hear you out. _

_You have to take care of your friends once in a while. You have to let them lean on you; you have to stick around and make sure they're all right. The same thing needs to be done with God. Not because he needs the attention, but because your relationship with Him does. In a way, then, taking care of your God is purely selfish._

_The thing is, the same can be said for your friends._

* * *

"Liv," he whispered, then sprinted the short distance down the alley, shouting her name. In one motion Elliot fell to his knees beside the figure slumped against the wall, recognized his partner, stopped breathing, and laid a hand under her jaw. He didn't have to wait for the thready beat of her pulse, as her eyelids fluttered at his touch.

It was a good thing he was already kneeling, since he wasn't sure his legs would support him. "Liv," he said weakly. "Liv, can you hear me?"

For a small eternity she worked at bringing him into focus. "Where the hell'd you come from?" she finally murmured, trying to sit up.

"Don't move," he ordered, and she obeyed instantly as she would for no-one else. Elliot patted his pockets and found his cell phone. "Give me a sec."

"El – "

He dialed the captain quickly and patted her shoulder, to reassure them both, that she was there and he was there and they were both solid. "Cap," he said when Cragen picked up, "I'm with Liv."

"You're _what?_"

"Later. The buses still here?"

"Yes – "

"Send me a crew. Tell them to come around back of the building and down the alley directly across from the fire escape. Got it?"

"Got it. Stay on the damn line, will ya?"

"Yeah." Elliot turned his attention back to his partner, whose eyes were drifting shut. "Liv" – God, he'd never get tired of saying her name – "stay awake."

"Mmm," she grumbled.

"C'mon. Tell me where you're hurt."

"Ankle," she whispered. "Head."

He looked her up and down to check for burns and found only that she was still dressed up and shivering. Forget staying on the line. Shrugging out of his coat, he tucked it around her. "Which ankle?"

"Um." She twisted her fingers in the sleeve of the coat. "Right. Landed wrong…" She broke off with a gasp as Elliot, running a hand down her leg, encountered the offending ankle.

"Sorry," he said quickly, sitting back on his heels.

"Cold," she said indistinctly.

"I know." He wished he'd brought a warmer coat; in his rush he wasn't even sure he'd grabbed his own. "Just a little longer, Liv, okay?"

"Kay," she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut.

Voices made their way into his hearing. "They're just as lost as I was," he muttered, touching her shoulder. "I'll be right back."

At the end of the alley he directed the EMTs, ran down her injuries as they rushed by. Several yards behind he spotted Cragen and Munch and Fin. Probably they could read it on his face: _she's alive. Dear God, she's alive._ Elliot bent his head and sent up a quick, wordless prayer of utter gratitude.

He felt her panic, a clenched fist in the pit of his own stomach, a split second before he registered that she was in fact calling his name. Once more he stumbled to her side, dodging medics; this time he took her hand and hung on tight. "Hey, hey, Liv, I'm here."

"Fuck, El," she said, so weakly that he had to lean in close to hear. "Don't _do _that to me."

"Do what?"

"Don't – " She broke off, eyeing a medic who was nearing her head. After he had managed to fit her with a neck brace, she went on, slightly impeded, "Don't go where I can't see you."

"Liv, I was only six feet away."

Her eyes widened. "El – I couldn't – "

"Shh," he said, brushing her hair out of her face. "It's okay."

"El, what's wrong with me?"

"Sir," said a different medic. "We're ready to move."

Elliot squeezed her hand. "On three, Liv, okay?"

"No!"

"One," somebody said, "two --"

"Listen," Elliot said quickly as they counted and moved, Olivia clinging to his hand, "look, Liv, it's gonna be okay. We're gonna go to the hospital and let them figure it out and I'm gonna stay right with you, all right?"

"You'd _better._"

He grinned in spite of himself and trotted with the medics alongside the gurney. At the end of the alley hovered Cragen and Munch and Fin, hesitant to get in the way but anxious to see Olivia with their own eyes. Elliot leaned in to her again. "Liv, the guys are here. Can they say hi?"

"Sure," she murmured, tightening her grip on his hand. The heartache made him shiver. _I swear, Liv, I'm not going anywhere._

Without prompting the others had already fallen in beside them, all three talking at once. They shut up when they saw that the noise was overwhelming her; one by one they elbowed between the medics to get close. Cragen brushed her shoulder gently. "Good to see you, Liv."

Olivia blinked at him, but before she could process the captain was gone. As they continued towards the street Fin replaced him, first glancing across at Elliot, who nodded: _she'll be okay._ Fin smiled crookedly down at Olivia. "Hey, baby, you hang in there, aright?"

"Okay," she whispered.

Munch leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Liv," he said hoarsely, then struggled for words, failed and fell back instead.

Olivia dug her nails into her partner's palm to get his attention. "El?"

"Yeah?"

"Why is John crying?"

* * *

Elliot held a brief but impassioned argument with one of the medics, resulting in his being allowed to climb into the back of the bus next to her. Whatever they had running into her through the IV was making her more alert, but Olivia was still glad to have him there. This was the wrong side of the system and she hated it. Her head throbbed; she closed her eyes briefly to block out the light. When she summoned the courage to open them again, the bus was moving and Elliot was talking to the medic.

"What'd he say?" she asked when he moved away.

"He said to make myself useful and keep you awake."

"But I'm tired…"

"I know. He's pretty sure you have a concussion."

That went with the headache, she supposed. She'd hit her head, hadn't she?

Elliot peered at her anxiously. "How you feeling, Liv?"

_Like I want to punch you for asking me that._ She didn't have the energy to be sarcastic, though, so she said, "Lucky."

A strange look crossed his face, but it was gone before she was sure she hadn't imagined it. "You are," he said evenly. "So what happened?"

She thought about that. She'd been so focused on needles and being strapped down and keeping his hand in hers, dammit, that it took her a minute to remember why she was there. "Fire," she said fuzzily.

"Yes."

She gripped his hand so hard he yelped. "El – my building – "

"Your place is gutted," he said bracingly. "I don't know about the rest – "

"Elliot," she said, more forcefully. "My neighbors."

"All accounted for."

"Mrs. Makins…"

"Liv."

"She can't run…"

Suddenly she felt his hand on her forehead, cool, smoothing back her hair; and she was so startled that she paid attention. "Liv, look, I didn't see her myself but Cragen said everybody made it out. Okay? She's just fine. Just fine."

Olivia closed her eyes. He could after all know this. He'd been holding ten conversations at once out there, words flying too fast for her to follow, and she'd been content as long as she'd had the gentle pressure of his palm against hers, as long as she wasn't alone. "She's fine," she repeated.

"Yes. You were the only major injury. Of course, everybody else had the sense to go down the stairs."

"Fuck, Elliot, it was all fire…"

"Liv. I know."

She peeked up at him. He'd been joking. Right. "I was an idiot," she said. "I let my guard down. Alex."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Like hell it wasn't."

He squeezed her hand. "I met him too, remember? We talked."

"Yeah, for five minutes."

"If he could act for five minutes he could act for five days. You have nothing to be ashamed of." He paused. "I forgot. You were the only major injury besides him."

"He's dead," she said flatly.

"Well, I don't know who else the dead body in your apartment would be."

"It's him." She stared at Elliot. If she closed her eyes she would see Alex, burning, screaming, caught in a trap of his own design. He couldn't have survived.

"Liv," Elliot said gently.

"I'm okay," she murmured. "I made it."

He smiled then but she thought it trembled. "El," she said worried, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. "Everything's fine."

* * *

_We all need our friends. You all know that. So taking care of them is really like taking care of yourself. You boys probably haven't thought about it that way before, so think it through. If someone's worth having around, then it's worth it to you to think of what's best for them._

_The same goes for your friendship with God. Please write this down: You are the only thing standing in the way of your relationship with God._

_You are the only thing standing in the way of your relationship with God._

_Tragedy and terror can shake our faith, certainly, but they are not long-term obstacles. That's you, and you alone._

_Feel free to apply this to your human friends as well._

* * *

TBC...

Please review!

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: See previous. And disclaimer that I forgot to make: most of Elliot's write-downs are not mine, but come from my own Kairos experiences... except for the line at the end of the first chapter. That one I made up for my Kairos talk. And the one at the end of this chapter belongs to Victor Hugo.

* * *

_There's one thing that always restores my faith. And Dick is going to hate me for saying this out loud, but… it's my children. Now don't all rush off and try this at once, mind. But having a baby is at once the best and the most life-changing experience I've ever had._

_The only thing more amazing than that is watching your kid grow up to become independent, and strong, and beautiful. Or handsome, as the case may be. For every criminal, there is an innocent._

* * *

Concussion, they told him. Broken ankle, minor smoke inhalation, various abrasions. They'd keep her twenty-four hours for observation. Elliot listened to all this, knowing how overwhelmingly angry he would normally be, but all he heard was _alive alive alive full recovery._

"Can I see her now?" he asked, because he'd promised her he'd stick around and really he'd done it as much for himself as for her. And they said yes, that she was awake and alert and he should keep her that way until it was deemed safe for her to sleep.

Sure, he said, he could do that.

Olivia was sitting up when he saw her, although he wasn't sure she'd have the energy to remain that way; and she didn't object when he took her hand again. "They said I'll be fine," she said.

"That's what they told me," he said.

"You grilled them, didn't you?" She grinned shakily.

He had. Not the way he should have, maybe, but he didn't have to be paying attention to do that. "'Course," he said. "It's my job."

"Right," she scoffed, and pressed his hand. "Thanks. For everything."

"It's my job," he repeated, settling back in his chair. "Now you have to tell me what happened."

"You mean, why didn't I take the stairs?"

"Got your sense of humor back."

"That tends to happen when I can think normal speed."

He breathed deeply then, let his gaze sweep her up and down. She was pale, exhausted, very much herself. As he nodded to himself, satisfied, she raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"So why didn't you take the stairs?"

"Because my door was on fire?"

"Ah. That would explain it."

"Oh, shut up." She shoved him with her free hand, but a smile fought its way onto her face.

"So tell me what happened," he pressed.

She did. She told him how he'd set the scene so quickly, while she was in the bathroom, how they'd struggled but she hadn't been fast enough and he'd managed to strike a match, how it had fallen right where it could start a blaze that quickly spread along the perimeter of her apartment, just as he'd planned it.

How they'd struggled, and he'd fallen too. Olivia's voice trembled when she got to that part, whether because she'd dated him or from the sheer horror of watching someone burn to death Elliot couldn't tell.

"So you got the hell out of there," he prompted softly. "How?"

"Window. Fire escape."

"What about the fire itself?"

"I dove." She offered a wobbling smile. "Not the most graceful exit. Miracle I didn't break my arm."

He didn't tell her that he believed in miracles. "But your ankle. You said something about landing wrong?"

"Well, for some reason fire escapes don't reach all that close to the ground." She shrugged. "I ran, but then I think I must have come down wrong on that ankle and hit my head and…."

Elliot nodded. They both pretended that he wasn't asking as much for the case as for himself. He always played two or three roles at once with her, and he'd gotten rather good at it. "Why'd you run?" he asked.

What he was thinking was that she could have saved them all some heartache if she'd stayed put, or gone around front where her neighbors, roused by the shrill of the smoke alarm, were congregating. He thought about pointing this out but he couldn't form the words.

Olivia was frowning, considering the question. "I don't…I think the smoke was getting to me by then…and I thought I'd heard him say something about coming prepared, about a bomb…sounds stupid but I thought the building was gonna blow."

"So you just went straight."

"Yeah." She glanced up at him, as though afraid of his disapproval. "I know I should have looked for everybody else but – I don't know – I couldn't think straight."

"Hey, hey, you kept yourself safe. That is, you know, the general idea."

"Sure." She straightened her shoulders, then slumped, tired. "So did I miss anything?"

They went over the story until Elliot could recite it by heart, until Olivia could get through it without stumbling. All the while she sank lower and lower, eyelids drooping. He opted not to mention this. As long as she stayed awake, posture didn't matter.

Finally they both fell silent. Now lying down completely, Olivia sighed. "How much longer do I have to be here?"

He grinned and checked his watch, still holding her hand loosely. "How old are you again?"

"Rude question," she murmured, yawning.

"Twenty-one hours."

"Great."

"I'm sure the guys will be happy to entertain you. When they turn up."

"Yeah…" She frowned; evidently something about this bothered her. After a moment she gave up. "They're just scared off 'cause they know you'll play Papa Bear."

Elliot rather liked that name. It made him think of his kids and bear hugs and teddy bears.

Olivia was watching him through half-lidded eyes. "El."

"Seriously," he said quickly, "I'll bet that at least one of them is hanging around the lobby."

"Elliot." She squeezed his hand. "You don't have to stay with me. I'm a big girl."

"I know." He made no move to leave.

"You're an idiot," she said.

* * *

She woke with a start, still surrounded by flames, and panicked. She wasn't supposed to sleep. She wasn't –

No. They'd come to tell her that it was all right to sleep. She remembered now. Christ, she must have passed out right away.

There was something pressing up against her hip.

Olivia opened her eyes. Her dense partner was asleep next to her, head pillowed on his arms. Somewhere under there he must have had her left hand, but she couldn't feel it, being numb from the elbow down.

It was his arm that she'd felt, as though in sleep he wanted her to move over and make room.

What the hell was he still doing here?

Carefully she extracted her arm from under his head and massaged it to bring back the feeling. Elliot stirred and settled against her side. She shook out her arm and studied him, mildly curious.

Such a strange thing, his still being here. She'd told him to go home, hadn't she? Yes. He should be snoring next to his wife. Except that there was light slanting through the window… Olivia touched his hand gently, smiling when he mumbled something unintelligible.

She should have pushed harder. She'd forgotten that she needed to take care of him, even when he was busy taking care of her.

She tugged on his arm, trying to reveal his watch, and in the process woke him up. "Liv?" he said sleepily, raising his head.

"Don't move." She rotated his wrist until she could read the time: three-fifteen. She winced. "I'm gonna have to work on my sleeping patterns."

"What?" Elliot stretched, yawning, and then focused on her. Before he could get another word in Olivia interrupted.

"What are you doing here?"

Immediately he assumed his most innocent expression. "What do you mean?"

"I told you to go home. Maybe get some sleep in a real bed."

"Well…" He smirked. "When my partner's in the hospital I like to stick around."

Shit, she hated having her own words turned against her. Olivia frowned at him. "What's wrong with you?"

She'd been going for stern and unamused, and apparently it worked. "Nothing," he said, but she wouldn't have had to know him to know that he was lying.

"Nice try." Fear pooled in her stomach. "Mrs. Makins – "

"Nothing like that," Elliot amended, much more convincing. "How you feeling?"

"Fine." She was. Of course, it probably helped that she hadn't tried to move.

He looked nervous, like a teenager asking to go out at night. "You'll be okay if I go check in?"

"I'm a big girl," she said.

"I know."

"If you'd left when I told you to, you'd already know what's going on," she pointed out.

"But then," he started, then stopped, unable to find a 'but.' Slowly he rose, stretching stiff joints, and glanced awkwardly around the room. "Want me to come by later?"

"I want you to go home and play with your kid. That's what I want."

Elliot rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

With a word she stopped him at the door. "El."

"Yeah?"

"Come on. You force me to tell you shit."

He turned to face her, unreadable. "It's a laborious process."

"Shut up." She chewed on her lower lip. "I mean it. What's wrong?"

She couldn't have said how she knew, except that it was in his eyes when he was looking at her, or maybe in the way he dipped his head when he wasn't. He was shaken, fine, but something… she _knew_ something was off.

"I'm fine," he said, avoiding her eyes.

"Christ, Elliot," she said in exasperation, "you sound just like me. You don't believe you, so why should I?"

"'Cause I'm your partner," he shot back. "That's what we do. We pretend." His gaze snapped up to meet hers. "Give me a break, Liv. I've certainly given you enough. Nothing's wrong. In case you didn't process, the only fatality was the guy who started the damn fire – forgive me if I don't consider that much of a loss. Everyone's fine. I'm _fine._"

He made to storm out of the room, then rather spoiled the effect by adding, "Call me if you need anything," before the door swung shut behind him.

Angry retorts chased each other around Olivia's head. _You've never watched anyone burn to death, have you?_ was only narrowly superseded by _What the fuck was that?_

Although she spent the better part of three days attempting to decipher his spiel, she seemed to be missing some vital piece of the puzzle.

Soon enough she pieced her life back together and went back to work, and they tiptoed around each other for about half an hour before surrendering to their easy familiarity. She did not think to look for symptoms of upset in Munch or Fin. Neither she nor her partner has mentioned the matter.

Not for three months.

Not until Elliot scrubs a hand over his face. "Sit down," he says, finally crumbling under the weight of an impossible secret, "I gotta tell you something."

* * *

_I want you to try this from now on: whenever you start to lose faith in humanity, think of your mother or your sister or your best friend. That's the easiest way to remember that you do have faith in something._

_There's a line from a book you've probably never read, which was turned into a musical which you've probably never seen, but in any case you're gonna know the line – please write this down: To love another person is to see the face of God._

_To love another person is to see the face of God._

* * *

TBC...

It's finals but my procrastination will hopefully include working on the next (probably final, and possibly pretty long) chapter. Pleeeease review!

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

_My most sincere apologies for the long delay. Causes include but are not limited to: finals, the week after finals, tournaments, babysitting, my imminent departure for a long weekend during which I must impress people, writing Kairos letters, my eighteenth birthday, and the length of this chapter. (That last one I'm sure you'll appreciate.) I did consider posting this as two chapters but decided against it, as then I'd have to write more speech excerpts, which quite frankly have gotten difficult. Oh, and the sequence of events on Elliot's retreat is accurate. I went back to my old schedule. So here is the lengthly and belated final chapter -- I hope you enjoy!_

_Beginning immediately where the last chapter left off._

* * *

She sits.

"I don't know how much you remember about that night," he says hesitantly.

"The night of the fire?" She flattens her palms on her desk, puzzled. "Very little, after I hit my head. Why?"

"You asked me…" He clears his throat and goes on. "When they were taking you out to the bus, and Cragen and the guys were there, and you were so confused – "

"Because I had a concussion," she can't help pointing out.

Elliot ignores her. "You asked me why John was crying."

John was what? She tries to remember this. She thinks maybe she's dreamt about it, in the months since. "And you said?"

"I avoided the question."

Well, he would. He's still trying to avoid getting to the point right here. Olivia takes pity on him and looks away. Let him take his time, now, he's trapped.

"It has to do with the thing I wouldn't tell you, in the hospital," he says after a few awkward beats.

"Okay," she says to her desk, pretending that she hasn't been wondering about this for three months.

"They told us," he starts, then falters again.

In spite of herself she looks up, smiling. "You know, you're really bad at this."

"They told us you were dead," he bursts out.

Suddenly she is very conscious of her own face. The smile is slipping off it. Slowly. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about that dead body in your apartment, Liv," he says, calmly, though he looks shaken by his own voice. "They couldn't ID it. We thought it was you."

"You thought," she starts, but words fail her.

"John was crying," Elliot says precisely, "because he was so damn happy to see you alive. Fin, he gave the fire chief a bloody nose."

The details only make this revelation more difficult to process.

Elliot swallows hard. He's waiting for her to say something, but she can't think of the words. "You asked me why I was there," he says uncomfortably. "Your neighbor called up. Ted. You wanted to know why I was looking at you funny. Well – I thought I'd never see you again. That's why."

She wonders if she's going crazy or if she really is shrinking. "I don't believe this," she murmurs.

"Yeah, that's pretty much how it felt at the time."

"No, Elliot, I mean I don't fucking _believe_ this."

She still seems to be shrinking but at least her tone is diminishing him too.

"What?" he says.

"It's been three months."

"I know."

"Three months," she repeats. "You work with me every day for three months and never feel like letting me in on the secret?"

"Liv – " he begins, startled.

"You never thought that maybe this was something I should know?"

"Hey, it wasn't just me – "

"So you dragged the rest of the unit into the conspiracy? What the hell did you think you were doing, Stabler?"

He stares at her, mouth flapping open, thrown by the use of his last name. "Nothin'," he manages.

She is so very glad that she finished her paperwork before this conversation. She won't have to look at him again until tomorrow. Maybe then it won't hurt. "I'm outta here," she mutters, standing and yanking her coat off the rack.

"Liv," he starts again.

"Screw you," she says.

* * *

She hasn't dated since Alex. It's taken her most of the time since to accept that she went out with a serial killer, that she had no idea; and she still can't connect the two, charming Alex and rapist Alex; and even though she knows it's not his real name, in her head she always calls him Alex. But in any case she has not dated since, and so tonight she is pacing her new apartment alone, thinking about what she has lost.

She doesn't do this often. Probably because she's not home all that often. And her insurance covered most of the damages. She keeps tripping over her own furniture, and twice this week she's turned the wrong way, half-awake, and run into a wall that wasn't there before. But for the most part she has rebuilt quickly. Elliot helped her apartment-hunt, probably so that he would know her new address as soon as she did; and she took a Saturday afternoon off to let Lizzie help her find a whole new wardrobe.

It's the stupid little things that she misses. Her photos – not that she had many, but there were some of her mother and old friends and the one decent picture of her and Elliot, of which she doesn't have another copy. She's lost her pillow and her ancient alarm clock and the jewelry box that was her mother's. The grey sweatshirt that she stole from her partner years ago. If he misses it now she won't be able to give it back.

Now she knows why he hasn't been sympathetic when she complains about all this. It sucks but it absolutely does not compare to her life.

She survived where three other women didn't. Until now she has chalked this up to her training, her quick reflexes and quicker thinking. But maybe that was irrelevant. She could have died in that fire just as easily as they had. Alex, he'd been good enough and savvy enough to escape fire and persecution every time – until her. Because she's a cop?

Or just dumb luck?

She would like to say that this possibility doesn't bother her, but it does. A lot. They thought she was _dead._ She really was that close.

What she keeps coming back to is that if she'd known this three months ago, she'd be used to it by now. But no, they had to keep it from her, which wouldn't bother her except that it's her business as much as theirs, more actually; and it was so _masterful_, their conspiracy, three months without a slip from any of them. Even her former neighbors, to an extent – Ted and Mrs. Makins both talked about being glad that she was all right, but she assumed they meant because the fire had started in her place, destroyed it so that she had to move out.

The phone's ringing. She's been ignoring all of Elliot's calls to her cell, reasoning that if it were important he'd actually leave a message; but apparently he's opting to call her home phone instead. Olivia drops onto the couch and buries her face in her hands. The phone rings and rings and finally clicks.

"It's me," Elliot's voice sighs.

Duh. Like anyone else would be calling her.

"Listen, I know you're pissed – "

No shit, Sherlock. She gets up and hovers uncertainly over the phone.

"He had the look, Liv. The chief did. You know the look. _We_ wear the look."

"You're babbling," she says aloud, never mind that he can't hear her.

"I don't get the look, Liv, I give it, but this guy, he looked me in the eye and he said 'I'm so sorry' and that – "

She picks up the phone, hangs up, and stalks away to see if she can get some sleep tonight.

* * *

Their being mad at each other is as familiar as not. Elliot wonders if this should be disturbing, that he knows exactly how far away to stay when they're walking together, or that she knows just how to arch her eyebrow to make his words wither before they get started; but he's kind of glad that they've gotten good at hating each other. It doesn't hurt less but it makes the logistics easier.

So that's how they spend his last full day home. They're dancing near each other, not together; but they still know the steps and they do this until late, since he's determined to pull his weight before taking three-and-a-half days off and Olivia refuses to let him work longer or harder than she does.

This results in such spectacular teamwork that Munch and Fin don't notice that they actually can't stand each other. The irony at times threatens to break him down laughing – but then Olivia catches his eye and he sobers instantly. Oh, he is in trouble. Why are women so difficult?

Okay, so he should have told her. So what? It's not like he didn't try. He's spent three months looking up for her, certain for one heart-stopping moment that it has all been a dream and he'll have some new rookie partner sitting across from him. There just is no good time to say, _Hey, Liv, glad you're alive, by the way, 'cause for a while there we thought we'd have to function without you._

If there is any blame to be laid, here, he figures it's just as much her fault. They suck at these heavy kinds of conversations, that's all. They need a code word or something.

He spends the drive home trying to think of a good code word.

* * *

She and Fin have spent the better part of the morning on the scene of what appears to be a rape-double homicide. When they make it back to the stationhouse, it is early afternoon and her partner is gone.

"Right," Fin says, "Stabler's out. When's he gonna be back again?"

"Saturday," she says and tries to think about something else. There is a white envelope on her desk that wasn't there before; she uses this as a new focus point until she realizes that it says, _keep forgetting to give this back to you,_ in _his_ handwriting.

Munch parks himself on her desk. "He told me to make sure you didn't throw that out."

"Why? Is it valuable?"

"I dunno. C'mon, open it."

She gives him her best exasperated face. "You're acting like a five-year-old."

"Open it," he chants, "open it, open it – Fin, help me out here – "

"No way."

Olivia smiles and uses the happiness as courage to slit open the envelope. She tips something cool and silvery into her hand.

"I forgot about that," Munch says, awed, as she holds up her old necklace. "I knew something was different about you lately."

"What the hell?" she says to no-one in particular.

"They saved it after the fire," Munch explains, and frowns. "I think the chief said it was in the sink."

"_How_ do you remember that?" Fin demands.

"Pure talent."

She remembers now. Alex had got hold of her necklace in the struggle and it went flying. At the time watching it land wasn't exactly her top priority. She lets the chain slip through her fingers. The clasp is intact, although she recalls it breaking. Elliot must have gotten it fixed.

"Liv," Fin says.

She closes her fist over her necklace and glares at them. "What's your excuse for not telling me?"

"About the necklace?" Munch asks. "I forgot? I never can remember anything related to jewelry; my third wife had a real problem with that…"

"Not the necklace," she says, irritated. "The…" She stalls, unable to find a good way to put this. Geez, it _is_ difficult.

"The?" John prompts. "C'mon, I'm five and I'm curious."

"You thought I'd died, in that fire."

They frown at each other, in perfect sync. After a short argument consisting mostly of eyebrow motions, Fin asks the question. "What does that have to do with anything?"

It's her turn to be confused; their response throws her off-kilter. "That's the point," she says slowly. "Why did you keep that from me?"

"We did what?" Munch asks his partner.

"You didn't know that?" Fin says, to her.

"For God's sake, how would I know if nobody _told_ me?"

There is a beat of silence, then John suggests, "Because of your amazing detective skills?"

Fin is more direct. "Stabler didn' say anything?"

"No!"

"Well," Munch says, shaken. "We assumed, what with all the time he spent with you in the hospital, some talking about what happened went on."

"You clearly don't know us very well," she mutters, sinking into her desk chair. The problem, she decides, is that they're all idiots, herself included.

"Sorry?" Fin offers weakly.

John gestures to the necklace in her hand. "Er, want me to put that on for you?"

"I'm sure you'd look great in it," she says, without thinking; and Fin laughs too loudly and she hooks it around her neck herself.

"Funny," John says haughtily, starting to stalk away. He pauses with a hand on her chair. "Just for the record, we like that you're not. You know. Dead."

"I like it too," she says.

* * *

She is staring at the crime scene photos for the tenth time when Lizzie calls. "Olivia," she says, rushed. "Are you busy?"

"Not especially. What's up?"

"You're writing Dick a letter, right?"

"Yeah, of course." She has the envelope sealed, already, somewhere on her desk.

"And Dad?"

No. Oh, no, she can't. "He's a leader."

"They get letters."

"Don't I have to get this to you by tonight?"

She is only making excuses, but Lizzie doesn't know that. "Please," the girl begs, "please, Olivia, I'll get them from you myself, I'm coming down tonight anyway – "

"It's a school night."

"It's an architecture project that we left till the last minute, I forget what we're actually doing but it'll take us right into Manhattan. Please. I'm sorry I forgot to remind you."

"Liz, I don't know how to write a letter to your dad."

"Just like the others," Lizzie says desperately, and lists off ideas similar to what Elliot had mentioned, back when it was Lizzie receiving the letters. Affirmation and praise. Things you wouldn't normally say.

Their communication, she decides, cannot possibly get any worse. "Fine," she says, interrupting the litany. "I'll do it."

* * *

After hanging up with Lizzie, she turns the white envelope over in her hands, thinking. She still doesn't know how to even begin a letter to her partner. Writing to Lizzie and Dick was different. She doesn't know them as well; she doesn't have to see them every day… and there's a slip of paper clinging to the inside of the envelope. At this moment she really wishes her partner hadn't suddenly decided to become full of surprises.

'I uploaded the talk onto your computer,' she reads, torn between amazed – she'd forgotten all about that – and pissed that he knows her password. Curiosity wins out; she finds the file labeled "Obstacles" on her own desktop.

_I'm a cop, _it begins. _I want all of you boys to know that …_

* * *

_As long as you are involved with the Church, you will hear about priorities. You will hear, over and over, the admonition not to let _things_ get between you and God. And let's face it, you kids do spend an awful lot of time surgically attached to those cell phones. I already confiscated five today. But it's not just material things. Every time we let anger or pride, selfishness or fear dictate our actions, we are letting them between ourselves and God. We're talking about strong emotions, here. They are strong and convincing and that's why it's so easy to surrender to them. They can destroy all our relationships. Please write this down: When your relationships with others are in trouble, so is your relationship with God._

_When your relationships with others are in trouble, so is your relationship with God._

* * *

When he steps away from the podium, he realizes his knees are quaking. Elliot really didn't think that speaking to a crowd of forty teenagers would be quite so terrifying, but apparently he's been proven wrong.

They're clapping, though, so at least he didn't make a terrible mistake. He barely makes it five steps before Dick attacks him. "Geez," Elliot says, pleasantly surprised, wrapping both arms around his son in return. "I think the last time I hugged you you were at least a foot shorter."

"Two feet," Dick contradicts. "I grow fast. You did good, Dad."

"Really? I didn't mess up the word 'success'?"

"You didn't use the word 'success.'"

"Right." The student leaders are ferrying their retreatants out of the room, so Elliot gives his son a final clap on the back. "I love you, kid."

"I love you too." Embarrassed, Dick breaks away and runs to catch up with his small group.

Elliot is immediately accosted by TJ, a skinny senior who has spent the last half hour in the chapel praying and will give the Christian Leadership talk after lunch. "How'd it go?" he wants to know, panicked. "Was it really scary?"

"Teej, you'll be fine. Now get outta here, your group is getting suspicious." TJ grimaces and waves his six loitering boys out of the room.

"Well," one of the adult leaders says into the new silence, "looks like we've got an hour of grown-up time."

* * *

They survive a silent lunch and TJ's talk without incident, except for one of the center workers' ill-timed expression of amazement at how much boys eat, which echoes through the quiet cafeteria and renders everybody unable to suppress their laughter. But in any case TJ delivers an amazing talk and they break up again, students to their small group rooms, adults to collapse onto their beds in anticipation of the long afternoon break. Elliot didn't listen when the retreat director first warned them about losing sleep on Kairos. He should have.

There is a large manila envelope on his bed. This he was expecting; the retreatants read their letters last night, while the leaders had to wait a day. What he was not expecting is that, when he tips the contents onto his bed, among the fat envelopes from his wife and daughters and a few addressed "Mr. Stabler" there is a folded sheet torn from a legal pad that is unmistakably from Olivia.

He leaves hers for last, partially because he's afraid she's yelling at him and mostly because he deserves it. Kathy, the one who's usually yelling at him, has written a letter that makes him want to cry; Kathleen a letter that does make him cry. He locks the door so no-one will see when the kids spill out of small group. He gets through the rest with reasonable composure, laughs at the "Mr. Stabler" ones, all of which prove to be from Lizzie's friends, and finally turns to Olivia.

Somebody must have been very cajoling, to get her to do this, he thinks, turning the folded sheet over in his hands. His partner balks at this kind of thing even more than he does. Lizzie could probably convince her, though. Olivia adores his youngest daughter.

Eventually he quits thinking and reads.

_El,_

_I don't know what to say to you. Liz said to say things I wouldn't normally tell you, so I feel free to say that I really don't know what to say. I read your talk. I can't stop thinking about it. You really should have said something to me, but I guess I can't talk. I've never told you what I go through every time you get hurt. I never told you how when Saul Picard smashed your head into that car, I held you and said over and over again, "You're okay, you're okay," as though I could convince someone. It's awful, El, and you may be right that it doesn't bear talking about._

_We've known each other for twelve years now, and you have always had my best interests at heart. You're incredibly stupid about it sometimes, but I suppose that's not important. What is important is that you are looking out for me, even when I don't want you to. I cannot ever tell you how much this means to me. You're the one person I've always been able to trust. And I know that's a lot for you to handle, but if you weren't good at it it wouldn't be true, would it? So now that we've both been overly sentimental, I'm glad you're being spiritual and all that but I miss you already and it's only Tuesday. Have a good vacation. I'll see you soon._

_Love Olivia_

_P.S. I'm changing my password. You'll never guess._

* * *

He's already at his desk when she arrives on Saturday morning, having given up any semblance of a weekend in favor of following their ten backed-up cases. Olivia hovers behind him, eyeing his stack of files. "Playing catch-up?"

"Good morning to you too," Elliot says without looking up.

"Pleasantries," she says dismissively. "So how was it?"

"That's a pleasantry."

"No, that's a question."

"It was good."

"Good? That's it?" She slides into her own desk and looks at him skeptically.

"Liv, I can't even describe it." He grins disarmingly and she feels better and smiles back.

"Except," he adds as an afterthought, "Dick hugged me. He hasn't done that voluntarily since he was about ten."

"Well, he's a man now."

Elliot grimaces. "Don't remind me."

"Do you have one of those weird crosses now?"

He tugs the cord free of his collar; from it dangles a square cross with four smaller ones to fill the gaps. "It's called a Jerusalem cross," he informs her, "not a weird cross."

"Why?"

"I have no idea."

She clicks her tongue. "So you put all this store in something without really knowing what it is?"

"All right, let's not get philosophical here." He passes her a page of her own notes, points to something he wants explained, and frowns. "But yeah, that's pretty much how it works."

"Whatever floats your boat," she mutters, smirks to let him know she's not quite as skeptical as she sounds, and peers at her notes. "That says he's hiding something."

"Yes, thank you, I can read your shorthand, but it doesn't say where he stumbled."

"Look on the next page."

"I did…" He falls silent, absorbed in the next page. Olivia turns to her computer, keys in her password, _k-a-i-r-o-s,_ and looks up in time to see him scowl and say absently, "Oh, shut up."

_~finis~_

_

* * *

Pleeeease R&R. Thanks for sticking with me through the bumpy ride!_


End file.
